


Deep Touch

by kissmekatie



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Arthur is smarter than he looks, Cuddling and Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Martin is a hot mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-21
Updated: 2012-04-21
Packaged: 2017-11-04 00:58:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissmekatie/pseuds/kissmekatie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin is overwhelmed and freaking out; Arthur to the rescue!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deep Touch

Martin's hands shake as he fumbles with his room key. It's not a card--that would be far too updated--and it clinks forlornly against the tile floor when he drops it. It's Mexico--everything here is hard, tile and concrete and tin--but Martin is so tired he wants to fall asleep right there in front of his stubborn, stupid hotel room door. He reckons he could catch a few hours' sleep before the cold seeped into his core and each protruding bone came away with a bruise.

He doesn't realize he's frozen in place until a hand alights on his shoulder, and he jumps as Arthur murmurs, "hey, Skip. Let me help."

Arthur is very good at helping, Martin thinks muzzily, and for some reason he wants to laugh. He does, and there's a hysterical edge to it that echoes in the room as Arthur herds him through the door.

"You must be done in," Arthur pats his shoulder once more before Martin finds himself suddenly bereft of his flight bag. "Why don't you sit?"

It takes Martin a second to process the suggestion--more a gentle order than anything--but when he does, he moves mechanically to the end of the double bed and begins removing his shoes, then his socks. He's not even paying attention to his own motions, brain firmly on autopilot. The light is searingly bright in the little room, even though it's just one bare overhead bulb. Every footfall of Arthur's bustling path around the room seems like thunder in Martin's head, and all of a sudden everything is _too much_. With a ragged gasp, Martin claps his hands over his ears and tips over sideways onto the bed, drawing his knees up and pressing his forehead against them to blot out the light.

Arthur hears Martin's gasp, and he's knelt by the mattress in a heartbeat. "Skip?" he whispers, and Martin's shoulders clench. "It's okay, Skip. Hang on a tick." He pauses a moment to toe his own shoes off, and then pads on stocking feet to turn off the light. "When I was little," he explains, "Sometimes my head would hurt something awful, and dark and quiet always helped." He keeps his voice low, just enough that Martin can track him as he moves about the room. "Does your head hurt, Skip?"

Martin draws in a deep breath, air musty and damp from where he's breathing against his own thighs. His whole _body_ hurts, like his skin is too small for him and he feels as though the whole world is pulsating around him. "Please," he manages. "Arthur--" He's afraid, and he hurts, and he just wants everything to _stop_ for a minute so he can finally, finally just rest.

Then, the mattress sinks behind him and he is pulled to safety. Arthur rolls him gently over, facing the steward on the bed, and coaxes his legs down, unfolding his torso and letting him draw a clean breath. Before he can feel unmoored and exposed, Arthur works one arm under his shoulders and lays a leg over Martins, his other arm draping across his skipper's waist so Martin feels held, surrounded, and sheltered. With a half-sob, Martin screws his eyes shut and slides his top arm under Arthur's mirroring the arm around his waist.

"Good, Skip," Arthur encourages him. "It's okay. Just hang on." Martin's fingers clench spasmodically, pulling creases in the fabric over Arthur's back. Arthur's hands are sure and strong in contrast, his upper hand moving in slow, firm strokes up and down Martin's spine. His bottom arm is pinned to the bed by Martin's fretful weight, but when he bends his elbow he can slide his finger into Martin's disheveled ginger mop. He strokes firmly there, too, rubbing the dry warmth of Martin's scalp. The frantic cadence of Martin's breathing slows gradually, and he tips his head back into the soothing pressure of Arthur's fingers. "Good," Arthur murmurs again, feeling some of the tension leave the body in his arms. With a crook of his leg and a gentle tug of his arms, he draws Martin in closer, nuzzling the wild curls back from Martin's forehead with his nose and kissing the frowning creases between auburn eyebrows.

Martin whimpers at the dry press of Arthur's lips, nudging upwards into the feeling with his whole body. He can feel it when Arthur smiles against his skin, and he butts his head upward like a baby animal, seeking more. Arthur's next kiss is firm, sure and steady where it lands on Martin's cheekbone. This isn't the time to tease, and Arthur's hands never falter or tickle, his kisses never titillate or seek to be more than just what they are--affection, concern, and no little bit of love. 

By the time Arthur kisses every plane and curve of Martin's face, save for his mouth, the jitters have faded from Martin's limbs and he can breathe without hitching in his chest. He is pliant in Arthur's arms, fingers gone still where they clasp the curve of the steward's hip. Arthur takes a moment to look down at Martin's upturned face, dark circles under his eyes and freckles standing out starkly against skin made pale with exhaustion. Martin cracks his eyelids just enough to see Arthur smile, and his own mouth curves up at one side in answer. 

"Better?" Arthur asks, and Martin smiles for real.

"Not quite," he replies, jutting his chin up in a wordless request. Arthur's answering grin speaks for him-- _Brilliant!_ \--as he bends his head to touch his lips to Martin's.

The first touch is close-mouthed, dry, barely more than a peck. Martin hums quietly in his throat and Arthur dips again, again, each time coaxing Martin's mouth open a little until their lips grow moist and Martin can feel the first flickers of Arthur's tongue. Taking a firmer grip on Arthur's hip, he rolls just a little onto his back so that Arthur's weight comes to bear on him a bit more. Like this, he feels like he's flying--breathless, overjoyed, confident. He's pressed into the mattress, one leg looped behind Arthur's and surrounded by strong arms. Arthur huffs happily into his mouth at the change, pulling Martin's lower lip briefly into his mouth with a scrape of his teeth, soothed immediately by a swipe of his tongue. 

Arthur is a generous kisser, never content to settle with one technique and always willing to treat snogging like the main event. Sex is brilliant, he always says, but isn't _this_ brilliant, too? Why skip over half the good stuff when it's just as good as the other stuff? And when kissing is like this--languid, warm, a little sloppy, and perfect--Martin thinks he's got a point. With Arthur's fingernails scratching softly at his scalp and that kind, soft mouth on his, Martin thinks he could stay like this forever.

Nothing that good is meant to last, though, and presently Martin feels his eyes growing heavy. His body hums with low-level arousal, but he's too tired to think about much more than what they're already doing. He suspects Arthur's tired too, and his suspicions are confirmed when Arthur drops one last kiss on his lips and pulls back into an enormous yawn. "Sorry, Skip," he murmurs, smiling and pink-cheeked. "Guess that one snuck up on me."

"S'alright," Martin's distantly surprised to hear his own voice is slurred, and he's then ambushed by a yawn of his own. They share a quiet giggle and Arthur presses a kiss to his captain's temple.

"Want to change?" he asks, gesturing with his head toward Martin's flight bag.

"Too comf't'ble," Martin nuzzles into Arthur's shoulder, eyes fluttering closed. "Like this all right?"

"More than," Arthur assures him, squirming up on one elbow long enough to click the lamp off. "'Night, Skip," he whispers, but Martin is already asleep.


End file.
